


Betrayal is inherent to love

by DorMarunt



Series: La magnitud del deseo [1]
Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Angst, But Mostly Hurt, Emotional Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Smut, mentions of BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:07:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24091063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DorMarunt/pseuds/DorMarunt
Summary: If Martín stopped right at that moment to ask himself what the fuck was happening, he might have spared himself a lot of heartache in the long run. But the truth was, he never found a mess he didn't dive headfirst into.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Series: La magnitud del deseo [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1739359
Comments: 10
Kudos: 75





	Betrayal is inherent to love

The first few minutes after his entire world blew up were... intense. The thoughts bouncing around in his head ranged from murder to arson, but he settled instead on mindless rage and destruction. He had to leave the monastery and did so in a hurry, with no direction or plan - for the first time in years, no plan. 

It took a while to find a new normal. To rediscover himself, the Martín he'd been before he stupidly fell in love, the proud and dangerous Martín, the man who depended on no one. It was a struggle. His mind kept sliding back to Andrés, to their old life, to how effortless their relationship was. To the time when every day was about something, about _one_ thing - the plan - and how he had the exquisite privilege of gravitating around someone as brilliant as Andrés. But that was gone. All thanks to Sergio. Sergio, who fucked up his entire life, and for what? A plan he didn't even believe in. A man that he couldn't kill, slowly and with his own hands like he's dreamed up so many times, only because he knew the suffering he'd inflict on his brother. So no murder. 

A little bit of arson, later on, but that was unrelated - a man sometimes does inelegant things to reach his goals. 

* * * 

When Martín later thought back to the moment he opened that door, he liked to imagine a choir of angels singing as it opened and revealed Andrés. Martín stood there, hand on the door, staring at the man in front of him. That beautiful, powerful man. That asshole. 

"What are you doing here?" 

"I fucked up."

"You fucked up. Let me guess, Tatiana?" Martín slowly unfroze and gestured the man in, closing the door. It wasn't the first time Andrés came to him after one of his women broke his heart. Although he knew that this time it shouldn't feel as natural as it did.

"What? Oh, Tatiana's gone."

"But I thought she was the one," Martín mocked. "you were always so in sync, weren't you?"

"Martín, what I said that night, I--" he stopped, searching for the right words. "I thought a lot of pain at once would make it hurt less in the long run." 

_It very fucking much didn't,_ Martín thought, but he kept his mouth shut. He was still reeling from having Andrés in front of him - and for real this time, not just in the arguments they’ve had in his head.

"Tell me about what happened to Tatiana".

Andrés sighed. "A moment of... clarity." He looked around disapprovingly. "Do you have some sort of alcohol in this dump?"

"Despite my better efforts, yes, I still have some," Martín said and looked for the wine bottle that he'd opened that morning. He smirked as he took out two mismatched mugs and he so badly wanted to say something about finally having that wine together.

"A moment of clarity," Andrés resumed after being handed a mug of wine "that brought on the realization that _I_ am a supreme asshole. Even though you come close with this" he gestured pointedly with the mug. "Who serves wine like this, cariño?" 

Cariño. They both heard it, they both felt it. They both ignored it.

"Let's just say my temper does not allow for owning the finest crystal anymore." Martín pushed some papers aside from atop a chair and gestured for Andrés to sit.

Andrés sighed and sat, placing his mug on a stack of books on the table next to him. He gathered his thoughts for a second before starting again. "Look, Martín. This isn't about Tatiana. This is about you. This is about the plan." 

Martín scoffed, shaking his head. "No. No, Andrés. Look, you can't do this. You can't chase me away like a fucking dog just to come back and pick up like nothing happened. You fucked me up really good, _la concha de tu madre_! You pulled me out like a bad tooth and threw me away. And now you're back, like nothing happened, talking about your fucking plan? What plan, Andrés? The one that could never happen? The one that--"

He couldn't finish his sentence as Andrés was on his feet, and Martín felt himself take a step back. He met his friend's gaze; intense, focused, as magnetic as ever. Fuck, he was not at all equipped to handle this shit. He's seen this scene in his head so many times, meeting Andrés again, and every scenario ended in tears. Even those times when his dreams veered towards the pornographic, it always, _always_ broke him in the end. 

In a moment of hot anger, he threw his mug against the wall.

"No. Get out. Fuck off, go to your fucking brother, you guys deserve each other. Print money, don't print money, I don't care. Don't get me involved, I can't get sucked in this shit again." 

"Are you sure you want that?" Andrés asked, as he approached Martín slowly. He stopped mere inches from his friend's face. "Are you absolutely sure that's what you want me to do," he whispered as he moved his hand to hover just above Martín's cheek. Martín's breath slowed. 

"Did your mitochondrion have a change of mind?" Martín asked. 

Instead of an answer, he got pulled in his friend's arms. Engulfed in that embrace, he breathed in - the scent, that heady scent, it hadn't changed a bit. Just as he'd buried his nose in Andrés' neck, drinking him in, he felt the other man’s palms grab either side of his face. 

"Look at me," Andrés said, staring into his eyes. "I really thought that time and distance would lessen the pain, even by a little bit. I never thought I’d hurt you like this." 

Martín was about to say something but just as he opened his mouth, he found it covered by Andrés'. A slow, tentative kiss, his friend's lips capturing his own. Martín felt dizzy, like he'd been spinning for hours and suddenly stopped, his brain desperately trying to catch up. He was torn between pushing away and giving in. He lifted his shaky hands to his friend’s shoulders and pushed away. 

"Andrés. You can't do this to me."

"Shhh," his friend pulled him back in his arms, "don't talk. Don't think. Just do. What do you want to do?”

Martín shook his head. “No, you can’t do this; you don’t get to do this; who do you think you are? You just show up, like nothing happened. Now it’s what _I_ want to do? I want to look at that beautiful face of yours as you spit up blood, that’s what I want. I want to see you in pain, _cariño_ , he said scornfully. "I want you to suffer. As much as I loved - _love_ you still," he corrected himself, "I want you to suffer and beg. And bleed. I want you to feel even a fraction of what I felt. Of what I still feel".

"Why do you think I don't? Why-"

Martín saw, as if in slow motion, Andrés' eyes widen as his fist connected with the other man’s cheek. It wasn't a good hit, it wasn't elegant and it wasn't even very effective as Andrés only stumbled for a second before coming back to his feet, a surprised smile blooming on his face. His hand touched his cheek and checked for blood. But there came another blow, to his stomach this time, bringing him to his knees, choking on his breath. And then another one, a kick to his ribs that had Andrés curled on his side, sputtering among the mess of things strewn on the floor. 

"Don't tell me you suffered. I've seen you "suffer" through four divorces, I've seen what you make of love, and my dear, with you it's just like lighting a match - bright, all-consuming, and suddenly _pffft!_ It fizzles out, it dies. You then come to me and make these big speeches about whatever the fuck lesson you think you learned, and then," Martín snaps his fingers. "You go out and find someone new like nothing's ever happened. Rinse, repeat. You don't know pain, _cariño_." There it was again, that "cariño" that slid out like an insult. Martín knelt next to Andrés, eyes alight in fervor. "You don’t know the real pain of heartbreak, the one so debilitating that it flays bits of your soul like raw skin, and it never, ever stops. I takes and takes."

Andrés coughed a couple of times and rolled onto his back. "I wasn't lying then, and I'm not lying now. I love you, and yes, I do know love. I know heartbreak, and pain, I know suffering. And I haven't felt this way with anyone, Martín. Not with any of the wives, not with any of the others. We're twin souls." He tapped his chest. "You are here, a part of everything. A part of me. There’s nothing without you."

Martín carefully sat down next to his friend, knees gathered to his chest, and started rubbing his eyes. What a fucked up day. 

"Why are you here," he almost stated, after a long silence. 

"I fucked up." Andrés sat up, wincing. He gingerly touched the red welt beginning to form on his cheek. "I thought it through thousands, millions of times. Millions of ways. There's not a single version of the future that I see, that does not include you." He reached forward, grasping Martín's shoulder. "Please."

Martín looked at his friend - disheveled, bruised, begging. Exactly what he thought he wanted. 

It didn't feel bad, he had to admit. 

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I'm sorry. I know it can't-"

"What. Are you _saying_."

"This." And his hand cupped Martín's head and dragged him into a kiss. A messy, sloppy kiss, that made Martín close his eyes and gravitate towards his friend. When their lips parted and they both caught their breath, he realized his eyes were beginning to well with tears. After a second of reading Martín's face, Andrés went back in for another kiss, deep and slow, and vibrating with desire. It felt like a knife in the gut, and still Martín couldn't stop himself from giving in. With a slow moan, Andrés broke the kiss and stood up, wincing and holding his flank. 

"I believe you did a little damage." he said, making a little spectacle of limping a few steps away. "Do you have some ice? Where's your freezer? Ah!" 

"Um. There's some vodka in there, it should be cold enough."

Andrés let out a short laugh, as he pulled the bottle out of the otherwise empty freezer. "Please tell me you at least have shot glasses." He turned around, hopeful. Martín shook his head. "I had some in the old apartment; they didn't make it." 

Lots of things hadn't made it through the first few months. At times, he wasn't so sure he'd make it either. He oscillated between self pity and self-destruction - the self destruction was, by far, his favorite. The anonymous sex, the boozy excess, the occasional fight, the partying. His glassware dwindled with the parties, the same parties that eventually got him evicted.

"I don't mean to be this forward," Andrés said, "but where's your bed? I really need to lay down and there's no way I'm going to sit on that couch. My dear Martín, I remember you liked style and luxury and comfort."

"Yeah well they don't let me do to stylish and luxurious rooms what I do to this one." Martín scoffed. "The bedroom's that way, past the bookcase." he pointed with his head. 

Andrés started towards the bedroom but Martín got to his feet, catching up with him. "Wait. No, tell me. What changed? What about this being impossible?”

"Oh, my beloved Martín." Andrés turned and drew a deep breath, and Martín knew he was in for one of those ornate speeches he used to love so much. "I had a moment of clarity."

And then he resumed the short journey to the bedroom. Martín stopped him. "Wait, where's the speech? The inspiring, insightful speech you always weave to prove your point? What moment of clarity?"

Andrés smiled and grabbed Martín by the waist, pulling him close. "Turns out, when you know exactly how much time you have left, you start to have revelations. Mine was that instead of enjoying the fuck out of everything for as long as I can, and instead of living without fear, I was hurting those that meant the most to me. You think I didn’t hurt when you left? When I chased you away. I felt your absence as one feels a phantom limb. Without you, nothing felt right. Nothing worked. That and... I really didn't mind kissing you." He placed a short peck on Martín's lips, followed by a coy smile. "And you know what? I lied, I did think of you that night." he teased, laughing. 

_That brave little mitochondrion._ Martín thought.

For a brief moment, Martín had the strangest feeling, like he was outside of himself, a spectator to that surreal scene. Andrés was there. The abrupt ending to so. much. pain. Like all that pain hadn't happened, like it hadn't ravaged him, brought him to the very brink a few times. But Andrés was there. That asshole. That beautiful, magnetic genius, so brilliant, so passionate. So powerful. He showed up, this exquisite offering of everything he'd ever wanted. He was just... there. And the pain wasn't. 

If Martín stopped right at that moment to ask himself what the fuck was happening, he might have spared himself a lot of heartache in the long run. But the truth was, he never found a mess he didn't dive headfirst into.

Andrés sat on the bed, maybe a little too close to him. He sighed. "I don't know what this is. I've been with dozens of women and it was never anything like this, anything of this magnitude." He flashed Martín a smile, but it never reached his eyes. "And I'm dying. One day, soon, all this will be over. The robberies, heists, the travel, the beautiful art, the beautiful people," he inhaled deeply though his nose, closing his eyes. "The _fucking_! But until then, I don't want to go for half measures, I don't want to be a coward. I don't want any more compromises. I thought… why not have it all?"

Both Martín's head and heart felt like they were going to explode. He wanted desperately to make sense of what was going on, but it was like his brain had never formed a single coherent thought in his life. He gestured towards the bottle. Andrés handed it over and Martín uncapped it, taking a swig. He handed it back. "Can you believe that... this is a lot? Don't get me wrong, but-"

"Oh, just kiss me," Andrés laughed, setting the bottle down by the bed and leaning in to kiss Martín. 

They were getting better at this, hands in the right place, breath in sync. Hunger increasing, Martín pushed Andrés to the mattress, definitely too hard for the injuries he had. It took a bit of shuffling to get them both on the bed in such a way that neither would fall, a difficult feat with both men’s eagerness but even moreso with Andrés’ wounds. They settled eventually, Martín atop of his friend - _his lover_ \- kissing him with abandon. He stood up, lips full of red, breath heavy. “I want to see you. Let me see you.” He reached for Andrés' shirt buttons, barely getting one undone before changing his mind and reaching lower, to pull the shirt tails from his pants. Perfectly elegant, as always, Andrés. Impeccable, even with a little more than a hair out of place; in fact _especially_ now, splayed out like that, open, ready to be explored. It's not like he hadn't seen Andrés naked before; the man wasn't shy, not by any stretch of the imagination. But that was the best seat in the concert hall, while this was nothing short of playing first violin. He started to work the pant zipper, and Andrés let out a chuckle.

"So impatient, mi amor!"

"One could argue that I've waited long enough." Martín said softly and turned his focus back to the shirt instead, awkwardly opening more buttons. Damn buttons, he really wanted to rip that shirt right open, but past experience taught him that it only worked in movies. He gave up on unbuttoning a couple of buttons below the neckline and pushed the shirt up, rushing to bite-kiss the first piece of skin he could reach. His eyes fell on the stain of red on Andrés' ribs, a bruise slowly taking shape, and trailed a light finger around it. "I'm sorry about that."

"I think I more than deserved it." responded Andrés, getting up to pull the shirt over his head and dragging Martín in for another kiss. Martín was once more grateful for the comfort that was pajama pants, since he knew very well how uncomfortable it was to have an erection in dress pants. It was pretty obvious that Andrés was in need of some freedom as well, since he moved to undo his pants and awkwardly take them off. Martín followed suit, their legs tangled as he pushed the clothes off the bed, in a heap. He straddled Andrés once more, determined to take his time and enjoy his lover’s body, but after one look at the pure want in the other man’s eyes, he threw all that out the window. Motioning himself back, he leaned in and gripped his friend’s erection, hard but exquisitely silky to the touch. He asked for permission with his eyes and the look of unequivocal desire he received was enough to make him lunge down and close his lips around it.

He focused on getting it wet at first, from base to the tip, lapping at it lazily, messily. He closed his fingers around it once more and gave a few strokes with very little finesse. _What an absolutely beautiful cock_ , Martín thought and smiled, closing his mouth around it once more and getting completely lost in sucking and bobbing his head, his fist still clenched around the base. _Mmmm_ , he hummed, _delicious_ , and swallowed around the shaft, eliciting a surprised moan from Andrés. It was absolutely intoxicating, and he instinctively closed his eyes again - only for a second, before flashing them open. How weird, he thought, since he usually had to close his eyes to see Andrés. 

Andrés was not a quiet lover, as he had heard numerous times. What a ridiculously cruel thing, being stuck a couple of rooms away and still hearing every moan, every grunt; being able to picture every thrust from the sounds coming from _ugh_ , _not himself_. Martín was definitely not proud of the times he found himself completely caught up in his shameful acoustic voyeurism, picturing it was him on the other side of the wall and touching himself until he came. He was now oddly proud to be able to elicit the same unabashed response from his lover. 

“No, stop. Ah-” Andrés arched his back, “Not yet. Not yet.”

Martín swallowed Andrés’ cock once more, deeply, making sure to pull the skin back and give one hard lick to the glistening head. This drew out another sinful moan, and damn if the engineer wasn’t more proud of that than of anything else he’s ever done until that point. He sat back up, more than a little dazed himself, until he seemed to remember what he wanted to do. Ah yes, the bedside table. He motioned towards it, though a little too far, and tried to awkwardly shuffle forward, still straddling Andrés. Not there yet, he reached across the body under him, still not close enough, he stretched until he lost his balance and caught himself with one hand on the floor. The other, he opened the drawer and started to search through.

“Are you okay?” Andrés asked, then something caught the corner of his eye and turned his head, focusing on Martín’s ass. "Wait, what's that?" He looked at the dark blue shapes on Martín's upper buttocks. "Are those bruises?"

Martín let out a sigh and dropped his head. _Oh, those_. Those were from his occasional forays into the world of bondage and discipline. Who knew. He loved to completely relinquish control at times, and other times - quite wrongly, he was aware - he was using it as means of self punishment. 

"Yes. It's-" he eventually settled on one word. "Spanking." 

"Spanking?" Martín could feel Andrés's interest pique. "I didn't know you were into that."

"I've pined for you for a decade and you're surprised I'm into pain," Martín snorted and continued to rummage through the drawer. When he couldn't find what he wanted there, he moved to look under the bed. With a clank, the bottle fell over, spilling liquid everywhere, but Martín was unfazed, rolling it away to reach under the wooden frame. He came back seconds later, holding a shiny packet and a tube. Andrés helped him back on the bed, and continued his line of questioning. 

"Tell me more. What do you like?"

"I don't need that now. With you."

"Tell me," he insisted.

When Martín didn't answer, Andrés continued, in a low voice, pupils dilated. "How did you get those? Open palm?" He placed his palm gently on Martín's stomach, sliding it up. "Riding crop? Cane? That one hurts like a motherfucker. Maybe some nipple play? Huh?" He trailed his fingers across one of Martín's nipples, then upwards, reaching his neck. "Choking?" He very gently squeezed his fingers around his lover's neck and Martín gasped, swallowing hard. "Oh, breath play." Martín gave him a pleading look, full of need and lust, "Please. I just want you."

Andrés got up on his elbow and went for yet another deep, dizzying kiss. "Tell me what you want. What you need."

“You. Inside me.”

“Hmm. Perfect.” He slipped the condom out of the packet and got up on his elbows, then knees, and rolled it on. In a couple of seconds he was on top of Martín. Even though he’d never done this particular combination of… bits before, Andrés was not shy. Passion translated well, it seemed - the topography of his lover’s body came natural as he traced his hand down his chest, his stomach, sliding it behind his hips, lifting his thigh. They shared a breathless kiss, and Andrés reached for the lube. He got up on his heels, coated his own cock generously, eyeing Martín. He gave one of his signature half smiles, aligned himself with his lover’s body, then pushed in. They both gasped at the pressure, grabbing at each other, breathless until buried to the hilt. Then Andrés began to retreat, slowly, then push back in, a quick thrust, then once more, leaning in to lock lips, to bite at the exposed neck, to whisper the most intoxicating, “is that good?” Martín had ever heard. And yes, yes it was, it was overwhelming; his senses felt absurdly heightened and he was sure he felt metal on his tongue. Soon, he grabbed Andrés’ head, touching foreheads. “Let me ride you.”

It wouldn’t be long, he knew even as he rushed to arrange himself atop Andrés and it became only clearer when he lowered himself, slowly, with a low moan. He started to touch himself, out of habit, but this time it would have certainly ended things sooner rather than prolonged it, as usual. Taking his hand away, he looked at his lover beneath him, breathless, focused, muscles tensing under his skin, little droplets of sweat starting to glisten on his chest. And fuck, the look in that man’s eyes; Martín knew he wouldn’t be able to hold on - he moved with the want of years of pent up lust, and soon his eyes flew wider. “I’m gonna come--” His face froze in a look of almost fear, and started pumping hot liquid on his own and Andrés’ chest. For a couple of seconds he was still, every fiber of himself reeling, as if trying to catch up with himself. 

“Hold on.” Andrés said, motioning his spent lover down in his embrace, curling his hands behind Martín’s shoulders, raising his hips and pushing in roughly. “You look so beautiful when you come,” he whispered in his ear, “So debauched; pornographic.” He grabbed Martín even tighter in his arms, breath hitching in his throat. A few absolutely brutal thrusts that Martín wished he were able to enjoy but was too overstimulated to do anything but hang on for dear life and enjoy. Andrés suddenly let out a moan, then grabbed his lover’s face, staring into his eyes as he let go and came. 

Martín relished in those last, erratic thrusts, in feeling his lover’s cock pulsate - one of his favorite feelings in the world. And getting to see Andrés come, getting to see his face transfixed with the abandon of orgasm; Martín found himself once again, irreversibly and completely in love. 

They were too drained to do much in terms of cleanup; a quick wipedown of fluids with the first thing that came handy - Martín’s shirt, which was then thrown back on the floor, alongside with the tied condom. They relaxed into each other until their breaths eventually slowed down.

"Tell me more about those bruises. I know the type of guys you are into, and this... this is new."

"It's... complicated.” Martín lay back, getting as close as he could to the sweaty body next to him. “The first time it was just curiosity, and I went along with it, but as soon as I _understood_ it. Oh." He shook his head. "It was exactly what I needed, and exactly when I needed it. To have no control, but in a perfectly controlled way, it was... At a time when nothing in my life made sense, this made it seem like things would, eventually, move forward even if I wasn't the catalyst. I was so tired, Andrés." A sigh escaped his throat, and the floodgates flew open. "And the physical pain of it; it felt like it was pulling out all the hurt inside. Every landing of the cane, every slap, every twist against the restraints; it was as though the pain in my heart was pulled to the surface right through my skin. It was cathartic, in a twisted way.” He avoided his lover’s gaze. “Much better than getting into fights. Really, really stupid fights. A couple of times I got so fucked up I wasn't sure I'd make it. And I didn't mind." It just flew out of his mouth, and he stopped, unable, unwilling to say more. 

“Those looked fairly recent, Martín.” Andrés said, softly. 

Not for a second did he realise he had been using the past tense. Martín sighed. It felt like a lifetime ago. He was so wrapped in whataver the fuck was going on, that he completely forgot: all that pain; that had been his everyday, up until that day. 

"I hurt you so much, carino." Andrés said, heartbreak in his voice. “I had no idea… I want to fix you, how can I make this better?” He rolled on top of his lover, taking one of his hands to his lips. “I want to put you back together again.” 

Martín laughed. “If only it worked like that, love. What now?” he asked. 

“Now we sleep. Tomorrow, I’ll tell you about the plan.”

And that’s when Martín felt the mirage instantly dissipate. He finally heard it. _The plan_. 

"So all this... all of this was so you could get me back into your fucking plan?” He extricated himself from the embrace and sat up. “Is that all you can think about? Is that all I am to you?"

"Don't you get it, Martín, this **is** everything! Everything I have left. This is who I am, this my legacy. And none of this exists without you. I said as much when I came in, I--"

“I can’t believe I fell for this. I can’t believe I thought you’d want me, _me_ ! Me, Andrés. Are you aware that I am my own person, separate to yourself? I don’t exist only to gravitate around you. I am not here only to follow and admire you, to obey and to help you fulfil your destiny. I don’t live solely to _complete_ you, and I certainly don’t stop existing when you leave.”

He felt dizzy, like throwing up. “I should have known. You are the smartest person I know, how could you not be aware that I loved you for all those years! You knew, and you used me. You kept me around for validation. For adoration! The one that would never leave, unlike your _women_.” He spat that word, venomously. “No. You can’t be here, fuck off.” He got away from Andrés, off the bed, and started for the door. He turned around. “Leave.” 

Andrés slowly got up, looking for his clothes. He dressed himself slowly, in silence, his jaw clenched. 

Martín paced around the room, and eventually picked up a discarded robe draped over a chair, wrapping himself in it. Just as he thought he’d calmed down a bit, Andrés said the one thing that could make him explode: “I love you, Martín.”

Martín let out a crazed laughter, throwing his head back. He stopped for a second, then the laughter came back again, and he sounded broken, deranged. Andrés eyed him carefully and Martín’s demeanor changed completely as if someone had unexpectedly lifted the needle off a record. He was motionless, strangely dangerous. “You were right, about this. It _is_ impossible.” 

“Leave.”

He remained in his bedroom as Andrés left and hadn’t moved long after he stopped hearing the footsteps on the cobblestones outside. “ _Adios, amigo mio_ .” he said, as if to himself. “ _I’m sure that one way or another, time will bring us together_.”

Although, through his tears, he wasn’t sure he wanted that anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t written in over a decade up until this point. And then this thing *appeared* and clawed its way out of my head, and here it is. Now that it's done I don't know what to do with myself.
> 
> It isn’t beta’d since I don’t know how one gets a beta reader these days; last time I was actively in fandom it was back in the LiveJournal days (so if anyone could give me pointers on AO3, I’d be grateful.) Also English isn’t my first language but I do hope I haven’t embarrassed myself.


End file.
